Fragments
by a Happy Psychosis
Summary: Ficletts set to random prompts set to my mania-ridden mind set to The Infernal Devices. Multiple pairings, but mostly Tessa-centric. T for language and... general mind numbingness. Yeah.
1. From Favouritism to Intoxication

**OH MY GODS. SHUT DOWN EVERYTHING. IS SHE ACTUALLY TYPING? For cereal? **

**Hey, so I'm trying to ease my writers' block. That's actually the only reason I'm writing this AN, actually… I'm trying to remember where all the keys are. **

**It feels funny to be monologing for minions again. I've forgotten how much I liked it.**

**I feel weird. **

**Justsoyaknow.**

**ANYWAY. MAYBE THE GLORY THAT IS CAPSLOCK WILL WAKE MY ASS UP. THIS IS TO RELIEVE WRITERS' BLOCK. THE ONLY THINGS I CAN THINK OF REALLY SUCK SO I'M DOING DRABBLES INSTEAD. FLIPPING THROUGH A DICTIONARY LIKE A BOSS WITH A FINGER. **

**I GOT A PAPECUT FOR THIS SHIT.**

**CASSIE CLARE OWNS EVERYTHING, I OWN NOTHING EXCEPT MY RUSTY GENUIS. UNLESS I TAKE ACHIEVE WORLD DOMINATION. WHICH I AM WORKING ON.**

**Aaaand, now I feel back in the swing of things, let's throw words together and see if they have prettiful voices.**

**Random Prompts are Random**

_**Interfuse**_

Horror stories have been told, Tessa remembers, of the territory wars and the plots and the murder-just-because-we-can that came before the Accords were made. She's seen the evidence in the bone cold battlefields of decades past where flowers still daren't grow, and the secret memorial pieces that both sides have let her kneel before. But to her, those recounts will never have more basis than her favourite books do.

She can't take any of them as solid fact when she sits at a lakeside, bare feet cooling in the water only to snatch away before Pearl (Nymphs have such creative names, don't they?) can teasingly yank her in, while she watches Chris watch the glowing disc of moon (Tessa can't help her pride that the werewolf can smile calmly – _humanly_ – while it must be barely a few days to full), sounds of Will and Caelan sparring and laughing in the background (her curiosity is rather enticed to see if the vampire's speed and grace can match the Nephilim's raw skill, she must admit), as she and Magnus, at opposite ends of the gently rippled pool, send hand/magic-made fireflies of sparking fuchsia and pulsing violet-blue to skim and twirl and dance with their glassy reflections over the surface, and her head finds that comfy place on Jem's relaxed shoulder.

Tessa (both the warlock and the girl) can't see this changing for all the contracts or treaties or blood feuds in the world.

_**Chivalry**_

"You've made your damn point, now _just take my jacket!"_

"F-f-fuck off."

_**Headsail **_

On deck, the salt spray of the ocean peppers the young girl and sends coppery strands of hair to curl around her dozing face in a way that would be ethereal and abstract if she didn't keep ruining the effect by spitting them irritatedly out of her mouth. Growing finally tired of making pictures out of sea foam for the seconds they lasted, the girl turned away to lean her back against the ship's railing.

Her inquisitive grey eyes wandered to the billowing, grand white sheets of the sails that captured the wind itself to share its freedom and _fly_ over the waters – Tessa liked the sound of that. As that very same wind took the sigh from her lips, she made herself take in every detail of the headsail; the way it buckled and stretched and snapped, every crease the gale created only to whisk away afterwards. She seared it onto her memory.

After all, it wasn't as if she'd find anything half so interesting in dreary, decrepit, stiff old _London_, right?

_**Hype**_

Word travels fast, especially through the Downworld. Tessa doesn't mind the hype that makes, doesn't mind showing off her skills a little when she's with her mismatched group of friends. The 'Shifter soon finds that she is not the only Other Than Human thing out there, and the fact that she is something above even that – a freak among freaks – is almost looked upon as a badge of honour to most of her fellow strangelings and weirdos.

It's the Shadowhunters' snide gossip she detests. If she doesn't play they good little underling for them, she's lying about her ability for the free care it gets her – when she shuts up and shows them where to shove their accusations, the looks of disgust and suspicious mutterings of her undoubtedly using those dark powers for their downfall start.

Tessa learns to compromise this by always turning into a ridiculously attractive woman for them, and then using their stupid male arrogance and stupider testosterone ensures that their wives banish them from their bed for as long as possible.

_**Death**_

"_Get up."_

_**Regardless**_

When Tessa first got to the Institute, she thought she should stay away from the strange people with the strange customs and stranger personalities as she'd only make a nuisance of herself and get in the way of the warriors. After a while, she believed she had to stay close and act as a bandage for whatever wounds and insecurities were beneath the fighters' masks. Later still, she separated both because she felt she had no place, as a warlock and a half-demon _thing_, in the lives of these Shadowhunters.

Now, as the comforting weight of her katana sword on her hip is fastened tight and she helps Jem with his own buckles while sharing a Devil-may-care grin with Will, she has decided that none of the above ever really mattered at all. She'll stand by their sides regardless.

_**Favoritism**_

It's a physical _hurt_ that Tessa and Jem are so inseparable nowadays, but Will knows the both of them still respectively consider him their second favourite person in the world, and that is enough for him to beat down anyone who dares to sympathize with him for their happiness.

_**Fib**_

Gracie Grey sits, pinched face especially sour as she regards the small woman on the opposite side of the desk. Charlotte's hands fold neatly on the polished surface and she addresses Tessa's cousin emotionlessly. "I don't know where you got your information, Miss Grey, but I must offer my condolences. Theresa is dead."

_(She's just outside the door, eye to the keyhole and lip bitten as Will pulls an excessively solemn face and mimes (badly) along with Charlotte's somber tone.)_

"The arrangements were here, that much is true, but she never arrived. Her ship was reportedly sunk what must be months ago."

_(She's with Jem in the kitchen, and he's laughing happily as her fingers spasm awkwardly and the chopsticks jump away again while she tries to scowl like she could possibly mean it.)_

"I'm very sorry for your loss."

_(She's using the training the boys shouldn't __legally be teaching her to sneak away from Jessamine's fashion lecture and into the library.)_

"But Tessa Grey is not coming back."

_(Ever.)_

_**Speed**_

The fact that Tessa has no angel blood in her system at all (no matter what clichés his mind threw at him whenever the sunlight hit her _just so_), was a full year younger than him, a girl to boot, and _still faster than he was_ pissed Will off to no end.

Even if he forgot that there was anything remotely irritating in the world every time she let him catch her.

_**Intoxicated**_

_**(Will)**_ "You got in a fight?"

"Oh, yeah! There was this dude in the bathroom, and he was wearing the same jacket as me and I was like, 'Oi, you should have told me you were going to dress like that. Now we look like idiots,' but he didn't say anything so I got annoyed and punched him and he punched back but I beat him stupid. Completely decimated my hand – all bloody and covered in glass afterward. Weird bloke. Never saw him again after that."

"And this bloke in the bathroom… did he happen to look exactly like you?"

_**(Charlotte and Henry)**_ "So you threw a futon at me last night."

"I honestly wish I could say I was surprised."

_**(Tessa) **_"I think I went swimming in road paint and whipped cream. Godammit, drunk me! We are a lady!"

_**(Jem)**_ "You tried to convince me you were sober by doing jumping jacks. For an hour."

**I don't know what I think of this, to he honest. I've seriously lost my touch – usually I can just think, "Wow, I shouldn't be allowed near a keyboard," or, "You know, this actually doesn't suck all that hard," and move on, but now… I've been away too long to tell. I AM FICTIONALLY NUMB. IS THERE MEDICATION FOR THIS?**

**Bah.**

**I bet I'll just disappear for another few months now… You should really try this challenge, by the way. **

**But I'll add stuff to this when I can, m'kay?**

**Because I have a life.**

**Encourage a starving girl by pressing that beautiful button down there? We all know how much it hurts to get notifications without feedback, eh? WHICH DID YOU LIKE? WHY? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?**

**T_T **


	2. From Soliloquies to Priorities

**It's honestly pathetic how long I can't wait to publish when I've written something. = _ =**

_**Apprehended **_

Charlotte's hands are fisted at her sides, and she glowers into the cell with such an expression that all three within are suddenly _glad_ there are a set of bars separating them. _"Well?"_ she spits.

Jem winces most, hands pressing further into his temples as he mumbles. "I don't even… All I heard was, 'I swear this'll be funny,' and then we were in jail."

_**Persuade**___

She has always hated chocolate, ever since she was a child. Detested the stuff, even.

It's only when Will pulls her into a kiss with the sticky-sweet substance covering his lips that she feels it may be _possible_ for her to be persuaded otherwise.

_**Divine**_

The infirmary waiting room was harsh and cold, a hundred years worth of tragedy and news of death seemingly sunken deep into the very walls and stealing away any hope that dared to breach its threshold. Will and Jem sat side-by-side in the room – Will's leg keeping up a constant tapping while he ground his teeth and fisted his hands together over and over, Jem's face seemingly glued into his hands and body motionless – for once grateful for the knowledge that they were not alone in their twisted feelings after what had happened-

What had happened to _her_.

Chest constricting as though his heart actually needed to be persuaded to beat anymore, Will's head lolled back and the boy finally stilled, swallowing a sob painfully. Above him, the ceiling was carved and painted with the images found all over Shadowhunter dwellings, a divine scene of clouds and gold and angels. The rich colours and skilled detail would have been beautiful if Will could find beauty in anything at that moment.

_Please,_ however, was his only thought – and he knew that Jem was adding his voice to the God neither of them truly believed in to _please… _

_Enough of us have died. You have enough angels… Please don't take ours away._

_**Productive **_

"I have literally just wielded a wood axe to save a child's life. What have _you_ done with your day?"

_**Inconsiderate **_

"You don't seem to have aged a single day," he commented. And then, through pursed lips, announced, "That is spectacularly impolite."

Tessa blinked. "Um, I'm sorry?"

_**Soliloquy **_

For the amount of attention everyone _wasn't_ paying to the Enclave Council, they really might as well just be bitching amongst themselves.

_**Regret**_

She's too powerful, they decide. It's not right for a creature of the Downworld to become fanged or tailed or winged or Marked at will, and have open access to the inner workings of any mind she wished. The Eidolon had to die.

And so Tessa sits, chained in her little cell and apathetically wondering if it'd be possible to count the imperfections in the rock walls (then seriously considering trying), as she waits for her death. Rather anti-climactic after everything that she's already lived through, she muses, but that's the exact reason that she has no regrets- well… maybe just one. Tessa wishes emptily that she be allowed to see them one more time.

_- Silver hair -_

_- Blue eyes -_

_- Gentle hands -_

_- Loud voice -_

_**Urge**_

When he saw her come smiling down the staircase that night, he had the strangest urge to fall to one knee and recite Shakespeare.

_**Pent**_

All the way through, Tessa stood with her back straight and her chin raised, looking every bit the sophisticated young lady while Pandemonium patrons spat and screamed and called her traitor, while the secret of her existence was revealed in all its horror, even when Mortmain himself was dragged before them, body broken but infuriating superiority-complex still intact through bleeding lips. She takes the fury and the pain, pents it up inside and locks it behind cool words and folded hands. Tessa may be put through hell, she reasons, but she will do it all with the grace of swishing skirts and pretty bows, all ladylike politeness as she kills.

And then she sees her brother.

"Wipe that Goddamn smirk of your face, you detestable, idiotic, deluded, crazy, treacherous, power-addicted, loathsome, self-centred, unmanly _Pseudo-fratricidal-bastard__!"_

_Finally,_ Jem smiles despite her.

"_LEAVING ME TO THOSE CRAZY WITCHES_? Didn't Aunt ever teach you how to treat a girl? I'M YOUR BLOODY _SISTER,_ YOU SON OF A _BITCH!_ You sent me ACROSS THE ATLANTIC AND LEFT ME _UNPROTECTED_ IN THE _**MIDDLE OF ENGLAND**__**!**_ I could've been _kidnapped_, or _killed_ or _**RAPED**__**!**_ IN FACT I _WAS _KIDNAPPED! _**MULTIPLE TIMES!**_ IT WAS LIKE PASS THE _GODDAMM _TESSA-SHAPED PARCEL, YOU _PRICK! And?_ And _now_ you don't even have the decency to BLOODY _apologize_! Did that twisted paedophile screw you dense or – why – WILL, **STOP LAUGHING**!"

_**Prioritize **_

When the damp, musty darkness of her cell is sliced by brilliant moonlight, Tessa covers her ears from the screeching noise of rubble breaking that shatters her lonely silence and squints through the dusty air and dim light that still stabs her eyes harshly. For a dizzying moment, the warlock thinks that the silhouette in the fresh hole is Death herself come to collect her – except Death doesn't grin and whoop like that.

"Jem's getting the rest of the doors ready," Will says as he sketches quick runes onto her shackles and yanks her stalled form towards the newly crafted exit.

"What are you-"

"You didn't really think you'd get rid of us that easy? Sorry to disappoint, my distressed little damsel, but, well… _Not. Happening_." He accompanied the last words with determined squeezes to her hand, blue eyes sparking in the dust and starglow. As they start to run – really _run_ – away from their old ways, old friends, old **lives,** Tessa examines why she just isn't all that surprised anymore.

Because even though they may have loved their purpose and heritage-

_- if you have the soul of a warrior, you are a warrior – _

- they would **always** prioritize each other over **everything else**.

_- __I have lost everything_ –

Because you can't break bonds made of iron will –

_- and friendship and love and hope and trust and fire and life and grey and blue and silver._

**I love you guys. I just wanted to honestly say that. ;)**

**Chivalry seemed to have come out on top last time. What, one of the least writing pieces? You trying to say something there? ;D Well, what did you think of these, then? **

**Ah, and I've got ten more written and waiting (my life is that fabulous), so their liberation into the wild depends on reviews. They really wan to taste the virtual air, you guys – are you going to keep them all locked up and aloooooone? Shame on you. ;)**


	3. From Pocket to Zealot

_**Pocket**_

Tessa doesn't know this, but he carries a picture of her in his pocket wherever he goes so he can show it off to people. And every time he takes it out he still marvels at how _she_ chose _him_.

_**Reminded**_

Where Jem might be innocent, he is by no means naïve. He knows what people call him – the kind ones behind his back and the-not-so-kind ones to his face. _Weak-link. Freak. Liar. __Addict_. It is of their opinion that Jem's 'problem' can be cured as easily as simply quitting the repugnant habit like any other drug addiction, and any other way to go about it makes him weak and sinful. After having it hammered into him for so long, Jem is often inclined to agree, much to the ever vehement protests of his 'family.'

It's not until Tessa reminds him casually that these very same people consider _her_ a monster that all self-doubt flies from his mind.

_**Hassle**_

"They woke me up at three in the morning, screaming, 'Drunk adventure time!' because they needed a sober chaperone. They made me walk them around the bock shoeless till seven."

_**Contradict**_

After her training was completed and she had settled into her various skins and place as a vigilante, Tessa basically became a walking arsenal. Although her precious kunai and shurikan and short swords and daggers and knives and razor wire and katanas and needles and throwing stars and other pointy things only made up half of it.

Many, Nephilim, Downworlder and Mundane alike, found out the hard way that her deadliest weapons were her big, blinking wide eyes, blushing fair skin, ringlet-silky hair, innocent smile and soft, tinkling little voice, because they deceived everyone _ever so perfectly, sir,_ and _could I help you with anything, handsome?_

So it's only when they move in closer, sneering and patronizing, that that _(shouldn't be allowed to be so) _pretty face smiles up, and her fist lets fly with _(bone-breaking, ground-shattering, inhuman, how-the-hell-are-you-that-small?)_ force, that they find out the hard way just how deep this walking contradiction with the pretty face and twisting knives really goes.

_**Sensitivity**_

"We're all going to die. The time and how don't really matter."

_**Dance **_

Whenever Will and Jem sparred, they drew a crowd of watchers. It was the way they moved, the way they each knew the other so well as to counter before they even moved, the way they turned it into a dance.

No, Tessa's novel-description-set mind argued, not even that. They weren't just dance partners, they were two halves of a whole. Jem was lightning, fast and silent with a flash of glinting steel – Will was the thunder, brave and loud with forceful slamming throws.

_**Engrossed**_

Everyday when Jem knocks on her door to take her down to dinner, Tessa will have her nose buried in _A Tale of Two Cities. _Oddly enough, though, the page never seems to turn.

_**Zealot **_

Tales of her fights and deeds were fast becoming legendary – a fact Tessa was constantly bemused by since she only ever saw herself as a girl fighting for what was right while trying to get by and survive despite it.

_**Dependence **_

They can glare and fight and compete and make things as awkward as they please, but at the end of the day both Will and Jem will count his lucky stars for hi- ahem, for _their _girl (their God given _solace)_. And their girl is still going to depend on them right back, to show her (and the rest of the world) that despite the things people say and the truths she finds, that she is not a demon.

Because demons aren't loved like that, can't love like _this_ in return.

_**Coping**_

He lay beside her, hand reaching over to brush a porcelain pale cheek – _softly, lightly, reflexively, _because he didn't want to wake her up. _(Don't move. Don't spoil it.)_ He traced every line of her peaceful face, eyes skimming, the mind not sane anymore.

No one (not Charlotte, not Jessamine, not Magnus), _no one_ had the heart to tell him she was not breathing.

**I need more prompts. My dictionary is liable to go on strike at this point – got any random words for me to spew back up? You'll get a shout out if I get inspiiiiireeeeeed…**

**Please?**

**And, as always, what did you think of what? THE REVIEW BUTTON IS YOUR FRIEND. FRIENDS CLICK FRIENDS. **

_***Click***_


	4. From Jealousy to Insufferability

**For Nephilim Jedi, because she wrote the best Omegle conversation ever, like a boss. Ultimate internets awarded to you, my lovely – and the rest of y'all should check out the forum just to gaze upon her awesomeness. And then learn the trolling arts. **

**Because. **

_**Enchilada**__** (bookgroupie)**_

For a while, even they don't know what the hell they're doing. Only that it's fun, it feels _damn good_ and they really don't plan on stopping Whatever It Is anytime soon. Or _e_**v**_e_**r**, to be honest.

It's not until one day when the three of them are lazing around – Tessa's head on Jem's stomach while he twines his fingers in her hair so softly, with Will unashamedly using her breasts as a pillow as he dozes with her fingers weaving through his own raven locks – with mirrored expressions of still somewhat disbelieving _bliss_ on their faces (because really, since when have people been allowed to be _this_ happy for this long?) that Jem ventures a guess. "_Ménage à trois?_" he considers aloud, that absurdly innocent voice of his turning those Bad Words equally sugary.

Tessa laughes easily, the vibrations doing odd, warm things to the way the three bodies were connected. "But you make it sound so _scandalous. _We've actually turned into the kind of books respectful people _(and Will's mutter of, _"Poor bastards,"_ goes ignored here but for the sharper tug of his hair)_ are warned off of," she muses with a quirked brow. And then, "How about we call it a sandwich and have done with it?"

"Sandwich?" Will echoes sourly. "My, I'd like to think of us as rather more exciting than that, Tess." He reaches up to her ribs to tickle expertly, her giggling squirms nicking the silver haired boy in the same way and making his laughs chime too in the harmony Will loved so well. "No," he announces grandly, "I'd say we're at _enchilada_ standards, at least."

_**Signature**__** (cantbebotheredtothinkofaname)**_

She's in a law office, absently reading the billboards when the thought strikes her; he really is the sort of boy she should get a restraining order against.

The thought pattern gets far enough for her to be seriously considering setting down her signature until she dismisses it – she'd probably be the one to break it anyway.

_**Insufferable**__** (Tinker2point0)**_

_He is insufferable!_ Tessa fumed. That arrogant smirk was _insufferable_, those sad-smirking eyes were _insufferable_, that lazy way he moved was _insufferable_, his damnable scathing drawl was _insufferable_, his flip-switch moods were _insufferable_- _he_ was _insufferable!_

More insufferable was the way he wouldn't leave her mind alone, and yet insufferable-er was how _her mind_ wouldn't leave _him_ alone either.

Most insufferable was the way insufferable didn't seem like a word anymore- and now he was affecting her vocabulary!

…_Insufferable_.

_**Superfluous**_

"I mean, she already punched me in the head with a wicket and carved various words I didn't know she knew into everything I own before making it very unlikely for me to have children in the future, but I guess she just thought that her walk of shame would be more dignified if she stole my favourite hat."

"…Why would yo-"

"I MISS MY BLOODY HAT!"

_**Floccinaucinihilipilification**__** (Pyreflies Painter) **_

They killed them all. Killed them right in front of her. Swarmed through the Institute in the dead hours of the night to slaughter anything they perceived as a threat in their bed, even slitting Sophie's throat when she screamed and scratched and bit when the silver haired boy fell with every other (what Tessa had always considered indestructible) Shadowhunter. And all she could do was stare and cry.

So they laughed – they** fucking** _laughed_ – and they left her in whatever mockery of life was left with no one to share it with. She was pointless, they said, not even worth the cloth to clean the blades, they said.

When she picks herself up she puts the fragments of herself back together, she does it _wrong_, puts them together _skewed_ and _jagged_ and _spiked (and all the better to __**cut you**__ with, my dear)._ And she hunts them down, one by one.

That expression of pain and incredulous _disbelief_ as she twists the dagger in that freezes permanently onto their dead faces is the only shadow of amusement she has, these days.

_**Brevity**__** (cantbebotheredtothinkofaname)**_

"Why tell him anything at all? Just stab him in the face. I guarantee he won't do it again.

_**Clairvoyant**__** (cantbebotheredtothinkofaname – for LinaLee **____**)**_

"You're going to shut up now."

"I could have sworn your gift was the Change – when did you add psychic?"

"Now. I see your imminent out-of-door-throwing."

"Out, you say? Oh please, you couldn't live without me."

"…Shut up."

"…"

"See? Psychic."

_**Jealousy**__** (The SpaceCowboy XD)**_

At first she though it was kind of sweet, you know? And after that she didn't care. And after that she got annoyed, but she could see where he was coming from.

It wasn't until the _eighty-sixth_ boy in _two_ _months_ who'd had the 'audacity' to talk to her showed up bruised, jumpy and muttering about those 'glowing dark tattoos' and 'devil knives,' that she decided she'd just have to kick some Shadowhunter hide.

_**Inspiration**__** (Tinker2point0)**_

"There was a pottery exhibit and an unattended carriage. Clearly, God wanted me to do it."__

_**Encephalalgia**__** (Nephilim Jedi)**_

The dark haired, sapphire eyed and highly intoxicated boy moaned as he pawed at his poor head that felt determined to split itself into freedom. The soft laugh seemed to slice his head like screams.

"Don' laf…" he drawled. "I shhhhall 'ave you know tha' I did vewy well, an' woz duly compl'mentin' myself fer gettin' down th' stairs – an' then... _unnnng_…" He winced again, and the answering chuckle only worsened it.

"You know what they say: one step forward, two steps into the bloody _wall_."

**Oooh, look at all the shiny new words I learned. **

**Seriously, I was drowned in prompts. IF YOU HAVE ONE, HAVE ****ONE****. **_**ONE**_**. I FELT LIKE A BITCH 'CAUSE I PANICKED AND COULDN'T WRITE THEM ALL! T_T WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME? WHY DO YOU MAKE ME LOVE YOU SO MUCH, MINIONS? WHYYYYYYYYY?**

**Bitches. =.=**

**Also, The SpaceCowboy XD, I know you asked for Gabriel, but I was drawing a blank – sorry. I'll try though. **

**Moar promts, **_**s'il vouse plait**_**? And which did you like best this time?**


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